The Strongest One
by Nat z29
Summary: The car exploded, the team is hurt, the clock is ticking... contains spoilers - season finale 9x24 and lots of angst


A.N.: Hi you there! Just a little story about the dramatic cliffhanger at the end of season 9. I wrote it yesterday and I'm posting it before I changed my mind, so, please, be kind.

The impact of the projectile was so brutal that even knowing it was coming nothing could have prepared the team for the terrible and violent blast. The motor of the 4x4 exploded in the first place sending the car in the air. The front seats were catapulted to the back and the fire engulfed the vehicle whose left side hit with such a force the ground that it bounced off and finished its crazy flight right side down with the front windshield shattering and the flames invading the interior.

From his privileged position the general saw everything. It never ceased to amaze him how quick a human life could end. Just a click and barely two seconds later magic happened. For a moment he regretted his decision, it would have been funny to play with these insolents gringos and he knew that Spencer Williams' torture repertory was nearly as insane as his. A pity. The angry voice of his partner on the radio made him to react, Williams needed him back on the ranch and he wasn't happy.

\- "¡Vámonos! – he cried to his men. "Al rancho ¡rápido!"

\- "Pero mi general ¿no acabamos con ellos?"

The general seemed to hesitate, but another explosion in the car sent a tire up in the air and leaved the vehicle completely enveloped by the toxic black fumes of burnt rubber.

\- "Nadie sobrevive a eso. ¡En marcha! ¿o es que tengo que repetir una orden?"- he shouted angry getting in his vehicle.

The soldiers picked up the weapons and between laughs and silly comments started the engine of their trucks without further thinking. The word "remorse" didn't belong to their vocabulary.

The noisy convoy went back retracing its steps leaving behind a trail of fire, dust and death.

An anguished feeling, the lack of air in his burning lungs woke Callen up. He opened his eyes and mouth trying to breathe but he only managed to cough, feeling the familiar and metallic taste of blood on his throat. He only could see darkness around him. A sharp pain on his left side made him cry as he tried to sit. Shaking he touched his left arm making sure it was still there. He knew it was bad, he was soaking wet. For a second he closed his eyes and tried to focus, his brain trapped in a foggy mess of hurt and misery. "Breathe, just breathe."- Repeated to himself trying to get rid of the shock. The pain wasn't making the task easy. For what it seemed an eternity he remained still, shrank into himself, not wanting to face the terrible reality, the fate of his team, his family. The cries of Kensi begging him to do something resounded on his ears; Sam's weak call only contributed to add pressure, but Deeks' silence was more eloquent than any of the voices. His heart was racing frantically. With a supreme effort he forced himself to breathe deeply and pushing away fear and pain he managed to sit up. Dantesque images flashed through the darkness. Thorn metal, broken bones, shattered glasses, leaking blood, smoke, open wounds, and fire. A fire growing and menacing with destroying everything he had in life. He moved. Oh gosh, it hurt.

Trembling, patting, sweating he reached with his good hand the nightstand searching blindly for the pain medication. The glass of water fell down wetting the bandage of his arm and, frustrated, he threw the bottle of pills against the wall. He muffled a sob and hid his face in his arm, the cold sweat made the stiches of his forehead sting. Nightmares were getting worse.

Another wave of angst invaded his chest. The broken ribs prevented him from getting air and he felt the imperative urge of running. Clumsily he put a sweater on without bothering with the zip and a pair of jeans that hung from his hips. Biting his lip he limped downstairs trying to ignore the pain. All his focus on the front door, he gasped in surprise when the lights of the ample hall of Dovecote turned on.

\- "Mr. Callen."- called softly Hetty worried to see her boy pale as a ghost, feverish, with a trail of blood on his chin.

\- "Mr. Callen"- she repeated, not a trace of reproach on her voice–"where are you going?"- she asked even if she had already guessed the answer.

\- "Hetty… I… I just…"- He wasn't able to finish the sentence; she understood.

\- "Ok, but I'm driving."

She chose the cabriolet and once both were installed she handed a handkerchief to G, who, without a word stanched the cut on his lip. She drove fast, avoiding the always busy city center and noisy highways, heading to the secondary roads with none or little traffic; the chilly air of the small hours messed with her hair. It didn't matter, not today. Callen was leaning forward breathing hard, alert, supporting his ribs with his good arm. No seat belt. Hetty knew that a part of him was still trapped in that burning car in Mexico and she would give her life to take him out of hell.

She slowed down the car in front of the boardwalk; even before she could stop the engine G was opening the door and heading as quickly as his broken knee allowed to the dark and menacing sea. For a second Hetty lost sight of him in the dark, the irrational fear that Callen could do something rash crossed her mind, but after some steps she distinguished his shape streamed by the moonlight. She sighed and got out of the car following him in the distance, respecting his space, his feelings as she had always tried to do.

Without energy Callen let himself fall into the cold sand. The pain was worse than he anticipated when he decided against the painkillers before going to bed. He knew the fever was responsible for these flashes of his life: Sam's banter in the office, Kensi invading his desk, Deeks messing up with his hair, his father and Jake playing on the couch, Alex confidences, Ana sweetness, Michelle's smile, Hetty preparing tea… and suddenly Hetty screaming in Vietnam, Michelle's death, Ana bitterness, Alex and Jake closing the door at him, betrayed, his father facing alone the worst fate ever, Deeks' hair in flames trapped in the car, Kensi's anguish, Sam's blood flowing out uncontrollably… memories of happiness weren't happiness, but memories of pain were still pain. Life was determined to take everything from him. A lone tear fell down in the sand, and then another and one more. He realized he was crying. A single question without answer in his mind: "why me?"

The sound of the waves against the seashore had the power of smoothing G's soul. The salty smell of the marine breeze took over the smoke that he still could feel in his lungs as little by little a timid ray of the first sun put the light of the stars out. The tide went out and took his fever with it. He was exhausted and so cold!

Suddenly a tiny arm and a blanket wrapped him up warmly. Unable to break beauty of the rising sun Hetty and Callen remained still contemplating the spectacle of the new day. Then like a magic spell Hetty whispered on his ear: "Because you're the strongest one, my dear, don't forget that."

Once in the car Callen, now shivering in spite of the blanket, answered in a tiny voice:

\- "I feel anything but strong…"

\- "Oh, don't be mistaken, you certainly are. You got your team out of that death tramp."

\- "Sam can lose his leg"

\- "It's a possibility, but he's tough and you'd be there for him."

\- "I broke Deeks' sternum…"

\- "You restarted his heart"- Hetty interrupted- "And he owns you all the possibilities of full recovery."

\- "I shouted Kensi, I've put her in an impossible situation"

\- "You know her well and you made her react. You chose the best for each one of them and you're alive."

Hetty drove fast. Out of the corner of her eye she could see that G was trying to hide the pain. She knew he belonged to a hospital, but she couldn't get angry with him when he signed the voluntary discharge the previous day. Sometimes the soul must heal before the body even if their nocturnal excursion was taking its toll.

The sun was still in the horizon when they arrived home. It took all the remaining strength Callen had to limp to the library, where he lay in the sofa like a rag doll. Without any protest he accepted the pills and the water Hetty gave him.

\- "I owe you an apology Hetty… I should have prevented the team from going to Mexico, it was my responsibility…"- G managed to say.

\- "Oh no, no. To let people be an important part of your life doesn't mean that you're responsible for their actions. Don't be so hard on yourself. And now try to rest, I'm going to prepare a tea."- she said walking out of the room. His weak call made her to stop:

\- "Hetty…"

\- "Yes, Mr. Callen?"

\- "Thanks…"- he whispered closing his tired eyes. He was sleeping before he could finish the sentence.

Hetty smiled for the first time in days. Walking back to the couch she touched lightly G's now cold forehead and covered him with a blanket. In spite of the wounds, burns and broken bones her boy was going to be alright, that's all that matters.

\- "You're very welcome Mr. Callen."

THE END

Thank you for reading


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